


Faceplant

by ineachplace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek is clueless, F/M, M/M, laura is alive and lives happily ever after bc she deserved that, window washer au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-24 08:35:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8365330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineachplace/pseuds/ineachplace
Summary: Derek moves into his new apartment and almost kills Stiles Stilinski.





	1. The Window

It’s the right decision. Logically, he knows that. Living with Laura for the rest of his adult life was not a practical thing, because grown siblings don’t do that.

But living with her was familiar, was so, so easy. No messy roommates, no humans who didn’t understand him or what they'd been through. Just him and Laura. Easy. Pack. Safe. Home.

“Derek, are you seriously only carrying up a lamp? There’s a U-Haul full of furniture that you could be holding with one hand,” Laura huffs from under the larger half of his sectional couch.

“I’m working up to it.”

The apartment is on the second highest floor of the complex, and there are no walls, only windows, which Derek likes. Up this high, Derek can enjoy the view of the city without worrying about a neighbor peeking in and seeing him.

He puts the lamp down on the front steps and grabs the other side of the couch, pulling a grateful huff out of Laura as they squeeze it, and themselves, into the industrial sized elevator.

* * *

 

“Okay, little brother, this is the last box. U-Haul is officially empty and you, my love, are officially moved in,” she kisses him on the cheek, then wipes it with her hand, a habit that Derek will never admit he loves. He breathes slowly out of his nose, and he knows that Laura can feel his uneasiness.

“It’s for the best,” she says, quieter, “we’re not just surviving anymore, Der. We’re allowed to have things of our own. They’d want that for us.”

The subject weighs heavily between them. Surviving was his and Laura’s autopilot. Huddling together in an apartment made for one. Eating only when starving. Looking over their shoulder constantly. They were the only ones left of the pack, and clung wildly to each other.

After they killed Gerard, after _Derek_ killed Gerard, and after Kate was incarcerated, there was no more running. The first night after, they slept for sixteen hours, ate three pizzas and watched the entire first season of Arrested Development. Laura laughed; high-pitched and loud, deafeningly loud in the silence that was years on the run, and Derek cried when he heard it.

Today, exactly four months from then, Derek is alone and surrounded by boxes in an apartment that smells like Lysol and not-home. It’s the beginning of something, and Derek knows it’s something good, but that doesn’t stop the anxiety from creeping its way up his throat.

_Shower_ , Derek thinks, already stripping out of his clothes on the way to the bathroom.

 

Funny thing about being just moved in, is that you forget things like shampoo, conditioner, body wash, shaving cream. Things you need for a shower. Derek growls under his breath, turning the water to the right until it’s so hot he can feel it in his bones. He stands there, unbearably hot water scalding his skin, until it starts to lose its intensity, lukewarm liquid soothing the sting.

He shuts the water off and moves for a towel, which, of course, isn’t there. Because they’re packed away somewhere in the clutter that is the living room.

Shuffling out of the bathroom, he almost brains himself a few times, skidding across the tile of the kitchen and the hardwood of the living room before he’s by packed boxes.

It’s when he starts rifling through what looks like a box of shoes that he hears a loud bang coming from his windows.

There’s a guy on a platform suspended by thick wire ropes, and he’s flailing like one of those blow-up ghosts outside of a used car lot. The window is half-cleaned, his nose is bleeding, and Derek seriously thinks the kid might be having a seizure until he sees the unmistakable imprint of his face on the window where he presumably banged it. He’s staring in terror at Derek’s nakedness, looking like he’s about to fall off the platform and down twenty stories. Derek pulls his hand out of the box and holds a rain boot in front of his junk before running towards the window and cranking it open.

“Are you okay,” Derek yells, hand reaching out, trying to steady the beam. The kid flails some more before reaching forward and latching onto Derek’s wrist.

Derek is gonna need to pay for this kid’s therapy bills. Really.

When he steadies himself, the chaos of his body moves into his eyes, and they dart back and forth as his limbs finally still, trying but failing to land on Derek for more than a millisecond.

“I’m--I’m okay, I’m fine, I just, you know, I--” he grips harder to Derek’s wrist, like he’s afraid Derek’s going to bolt.

“Did you hit your head,” Derek asks, painfully aware that he’s got one hand out the window and the other on a boot over his dick, still dripping wet.

“Yeah, I, you know, I didn’t think anyone was in this apartment because the old guy moved out like a month ago and,” the kid swallows hard, like his breath got away from him, “I’m the window washer for this building and, I didn’t think anyone lived here and then you, just, you were _there_ ,” Stiles finally lets go of Derek’s wrist, wiping at the blood on his nose like he didn't realize that it was there.

Derek’s uncomfortable, to say the least. He feels like he’s going to pass out, and his claws are a second away from coming out. This move was a bad idea. Not even a full day and he’s almost killed someone. The kid is standing there, literally floating outside of Derek's apartment building, and humiliation doesn't even begin to describe how he feels. 

“I have to go,” the kid chokes out, leaning down to pick up the now spilled bucket of water and the squeegee thing. Derek doesn’t even get a chance to respond before the platform starts moving up and out of sight. He stands there in shock, realizing that the kid didn’t clean his face imprint off of the window.

 

He buys curtains the second he finds his box of clothes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You’ve got stars in your hair.  
> I don’t want to be around you.  
> I don’t want to drink you in.  
> I want to walk into the heart of you  
> And never walk back out."
> 
> \--Tim Riggins Speaks of Waterfalls, by Nico Alvarado

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY that this took me so long to update. Grad school is killing me. Enjoy! :)

"Laura, for Christ's sake, stop _laughing_ ," Derek's been pacing in the foyer of his apartment complex for twenty minutes listening to Laura's inhuman cackling. Sure, not too long ago he would've sold his own soul to hear it, but now, it's like Chinese water torture. Every time he thinks she's finished, it starts again--the shrieking.

Never in his wildest dreams could he have made up what happened to him last week. No horror movie could even come close to this level of terror and humiliation.

"He saw everything, Laura. EVERYTHING," and Laura practically screams, voice hoarse and raspy now.

"I can't believe this is a real thing that really happened to you in real life," she wheezes, taking a few moments to catch her breath.

Derek's arm is tucked under the one supporting his phone. He can't stop moving, the kid's frantic energy seemingly transferred to him. He's been bugging out; showering three times a day and running double his usual distance, all because he can't just stand _still_ anymore. The dude's face mark is still on the fucking window, taunting him, reminding him that a stranger's seen him naked. He thought the smear would fade, maybe, but it didn't. Derek even studied it a few times, trying to remember the details of his face.

"Derek, okay, I'm back. I'm done laughing," Laura coughs, clearing her throat and stifling a few giggles before her voice returns to its normal octave.

"I can't even remember what he looks like," Derek's kind of shocked by the confession. As if that's what's really bothering him, not the nakedness or the sheer improbability of a thing like this happening.

"What's really bothering you about it, Der, hm?" Laura's voice is softer now, like it was when she'd tuck Cora in for bed. He's struck with a nostalgia so fierce, the tears spring to his eyes automatically.

"I didn't see him or hear him. I--I should have heard him. Should've remembered his face. I'm too," Derek huffs, "I'm not on my guard any more."

Laura is quiet for a long time, nothing but steady breathing on the other end until she sighs loudly, "You're not used to being safe. Even your first day on your own, you felt safe, and it scares you. Not waiting for something bad to happen."

Only after she says it does it become the truth. 

"Derek, I need you to listen to me, okay? Listen to me," Derek stills for the first time this week. Just stands there, hanging onto Laura's voice, waiting for her to make it all better.

"I love you. Mom and dad loved you. Cora loved you. What--what happened to them, and to us, is not your fault."

Derek's crying now, realizing way too late that he should've called Laura in the privacy of his own apartment. People are coming in and out of the rotating entrance, and the doorman is staring at him

"We don't have to run anymore. Derek, you are allowed to be safe."

And that's when the kid walks in.

Derek coughs, wipes his tears away too fast, scraping his face with the rough cuffs of his leather jacket.

"I love you, Laura. Thank you," he says, barely a whisper.

"Go find that boy, Der Bear," she says, then hangs up with a soft click.

He's hovering a good ten feet away, trying to look like he doesn't hear or see anything that's happening. Derek sniffles once, trying to get his bearings. 

"So I, I'm, uh, obviously, you know," the kid gestures, stepping closer with his hand out. And he smells so fucking _good_ , like cinnamon and honey. Derek's speechless almost instantly when he realizes that this kid is beautiful.

"I'm Stiles," he says, slowly, moving his hand to try and get Derek to shake it.

He does. Tries to make it as short as possible because touching him makes his whole arm tingle like it's fallen asleep or maybe on fire.

"Derek. You--"

"I saw you naked," Stiles blurts out, cheeks going red. He pulls his hands away and runs it through his hair, letting out a shaky breath. Derek just stands there, puffy-faced from crying.

"I meant, um, shit. I meant that I came over here hoping to find you to actually apologize for that entire interaction, and for, you know, leaving so abruptly."

He shuffles on his feet, hands pushing into his pockets, and Derek just stares. Stiles can't be more than 20. He's buzzing with this barely contained energy that makes Derek want to crawl out of his skin and take a cold shower because he all of a sudden cannot imagine what kissing someone, sleeping with someone like that, would do to a person. Probably ruin them forever, set them off until they burn up from the inside out.

Stiles clears his throat, squirming under Derek's gaze.

"I just moved in, and my, stuff, I--you know."

It's like Derek lost what little social skills he had. His tongue feels hot and swollen, and he can taste Stiles every time he breathe in, practically choking on it. 

"I figured. Well I just wanted to, like I said, introduce myself and apologize again for making you uncomfortable," Stiles' hand flutters vaguely in Derek's direction, gesturing at all of him. He's licking his lips compulsively, and Derek can't help but track the movement, noticing his distinct cupid's bow, the way his teeth seem to hide behind his tongue, which is always moving. His eyes, Derek can't believe he didn't notice them immediately. They're brown but the kind of brown that, when you stir it, breaks apart, flecks of yellow and gold floating to the surface and mixing together again. 

"Your face is still on my window," Derek says because he's a fucking loser and an accidental asshole who doesn't know how to interact with anyone but his sister. 

"I clean every Sunday. I'll be by again tomorrow at noon to take care of it. You might want to, you know, I mean, you don't have to, but you might want to invest in some curtains," Stiles blushes again, looking around and stepping out of the way of the people entering and exiting the building, always returning to stand about three feet away from Derek.

"Already have, so, there shouldn't be any more problems," Derek grits out, because he's losing his ability to function, getting worse by the second. He's so stupidly attracted this kid that it's freaking him out, and he feels out of control, completely gutted because he knows he's ruining this.

"Okay then," Stiles rocks back on his heels, mouth pressed tight, "See you around then, Derek."

And then he's gone. Well, struggling to get through the revolving doors of the building, flailing as usual, but still moving away from Derek.

He punches a perfect hole in the wall of his living room and keeps the curtains closed the next day until nightfall. 

 

The windows are spotless on Monday.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you a sun or a moon person?"
> 
> His phone buzzes almost immediately.
> 
> "Moon. Hungry like the wolf."
> 
> Derek's never coming back from this. Not ever.

"I'm in love with him," Derek honest to God whines, watching as Stiles, looking at his phone, bangs his entire face into the glass doors of the coffee shop, graceless body flailing in all directions before calming down and walking inside.  _Human Bean_ was slowly becoming Derek's favorite place to go to be alone. It was always warm, and the coffee was spectacularly strong. That is, until Stiles walked in and just...never seemed to stop walking in. All of a sudden, he was there. Every day. Ordering a triple shot espresso like he needed any more energy to animate him, and just sitting there with his stupid laptop with those stupid wolf and fox stickers on it, making the place _his_ just by breathing in it. 

Derek really didn't mean to stalk him, but he'd grown accustomed to watching him work from the other side of the cafe. Stiles never looked up, never acknowledged him, just typed away, pausing every few minutes to take an obscene gulp from his drink. His left knee would start shaking about twenty minutes in, keeping up a relentless and frantic beat until, finally, the laptop closed. 

 " _Him?!_ "

Laura is looking at Derek like he's losing it, and he honestly thinks he might be. Looking at him feels like being punched square in the stomach, hurts so bad that Derek almost wants to bunch over in pain.

"Oh my God," Laura laughs, "he is SPECTACULAR, Der," she practically yells.

"Shut up! Derek hisses, trying to get his feelings under control.

"Go talk to him again, Derek. Try to start fresh, maybe tell him about that time I caught you crying listening to Christina Aguilera."

"Will you go? People are starting to stare," he practically hisses out of embarrassment.

"Fine, but only if you go talk to him. You're lucky he isn't a werewolf. You smell like a hormonal teenager who just found his dad's playboy magazine."

"Shut UP, Laura, that was _one_ time" he whispers, just as she cuffs him on the back of the head and walks out.  He's gonna do this. He's gonna try and fix this.

Stiles has nestled into his usual booth in the far corner of the room, his laptop blocking the bottom half of his face. Even still, Derek knows his tongue is out, stuck firmly between his lips in a pensive stare. He makes his way over, stopping a good distance a way so as not to startle him.

"Hey," he croaks, hands digging into his pockets, pushing so hard he's about to punch through them. Stiles looks up, blinks hard twice before a guarded expression falls over his face.

"Derek," he says, shoulders hunched up instinctively, sweet scent going dark and sour. It makes Derek feel physically ill, that he's earned this reaction from Stiles. From anyone, but especially Stiles.

"I, uh," he knows his face is pinched, brows furrowed in what Cora fondly called his "murder face," but he can't help it. Every muscle feels frozen. "I wanted to apologize for what I, for how I acted, you know, last time I saw you."

He's not looking at him. Can't look at him. Not while he feels on the verge of throwing up. Stiles' scent evens out, bitterness bleeding into this warm sweetness that honest to God makes Derek stifle a moan.

"Were you having a bad day?" He asks, gently, gesturing across the table for Derek to sit. He does, immediately.

"Yeah. Yes," he says, slowly pulling his hands out of his pocket to press them into the table. Stiles is looking at him, hint of curiosity in his eyes.

"Okay. I forgive you, then," he says easily, holding an intense stare before looking to his laptop and typing away. They're silent for a few long seconds, and Derek considers leaving, tells himself he's done his duty, when Stiles stretches, long arms reaching up, head tipping to the side, leaving the long expanse of his neck exposed.

Derek can't take it. Can't take any of this. He's staring and he can't stop, can't move because if he does it'll be towards Stiles.

He doesn't realize that Stiles is staring back until the warm scent gets deeper, a little bite growing that burns at the back of Derek's throat. He breaks his gaze away from Stiles' neck long enough to see Stiles' mouth parted in what Derek thinks might be surprise. And he can't be here anymore. Can't be near him in a public place, or ever, maybe.

"I have to go," he almost yells, bolting up and out of the coffee shop before Stiles can even move a muscle, holding his breath until he's in the fresh air, smells of the city bleeding in and erasing the overwhelming scent of STILES STILES STILES.

He starts walking, taking deep gulps of breath, thinking about death's sweet embrace, of a comet flying through the sky and directly into him, when he hears--smells--Stiles running behind him.

"Hey! Derek, wait up."

Derek freezes, turning around slowly. Stiles' run slows to a jog until he stops about a foot away from Derek which is, to be honest, entirely too close, especially with Stiles breathing all heavy.

"I didn't get to ask you if you wanted to hang out some time," he says too fast.

And Derek wants to say yes, really wants to say yes. But he can't be trusted, can't get his feelings out of the way long enough to even have a functional conversation with him, let alone DO something with him.

"I--I can't," he bites out, eyes looking anywhere but a Stiles, even though he can feel his disappointment without having to see his face.

He smells anger, the hot, spicy scent of it rolling off of Stiles now in waves. He moves forward, pushing into Derek's space, mouth a thin line,

"What the fuck is your problem, Derek? Huh? You look at me like you can't stand to even be around me."

Derek's losing control. He's shaking and so is Stiles and they're in the middle of the sidewalk.

"I know you have a girlfriend, okay? I'm not trying to hit on you, I'm just trying to, to--oh FUCK it,"  Stiles turns to storm off, but Derek panics and grabs his arm, pulls him into the alley to their left.

"I don't have a girlfriend, what are you talking about?" Stiles has got both of his hands fisted in Derek's jacket like he was expecting a fight, but his grip loosens at the question, eyes going wide.

"I heard you on the phone when I came to apologize. I didn't mean to eavesdrop but I heard you tell her you loved her and I just, I don't know, assumed? And it's not the hardest thing in the world to believe, I saw her with you just before getting coffee and it just seemed like--"

Derek let's go of the iron grip he has in Stiles' upper arms, breath rushing out of him hot and shaky.

"That was my sister."

They both just breathe for a second. Stiles' scent evens out again, but his heartbeat is still frantic and wild.

"Why do you look at me like that," he says so quietly that Derek thinks he might be talking to himself. When he looks up, Stiles is watching him, chin pressing into his chest defensively, eyes hooded.

"I'm. I'm not...good," Derek stutters out, rubbing a shaky hand over his face and hoping that the ground will swallow him up forever.

Stiles moves closer, bringing himself eye level to Derek and waiting.

"I'm not good at, at talking to people, at being a, I don't know, a--"

"A person?" Stiles asks, moving even closer, making Derek step back to get some space.

"Tell me."

"I need you to make this...easy for me, if you, if you want to know me. I don't know how, how to do this and I need you to make it easy," Derek wants to keep speaking but he can't. It's the most he's spoken to another person in a while, and he's exhausted.

Stiles considers for a second, those eyes just floating over Derek, cutting him open repeatedly until he leans against the brick wall of the alley, crossing his arms.

"Okay. Give me your phone," he holds out his hand expectantly, small smirk on his face like he's got Derek figured out already.

Derek hands over his phone, watches Stiles' hands, mesmerized by his long fingers, the green purple veins moving like piano strings while he types.

"We're going to try texting. I'm going to text you and we're going to try to have a conversation," Stiles says, handing Derek's phone back to him, face going serious again, "only if you want to. I'm not forcing you to do anything. Maybe we don't have anything in common and maybe we won't get along, right? But we can try, if you want to."

Derek nods once,a stiff movement that makes his head spin. He wants to kiss him. Run his tongue over the moles painted down his neck. He wants too much. So texting is good. He can handle that.

"Okay."

"Okay. I'll, text you, Derek."

And he's gone again, but it doesn't hurt.

 

* * *

 

 

About five minutes later, Derek's phone buzzes, the name  _Stiles_ popping up. 

_ So what's your favorite drink here? Are you a hot chocolate guy or a coffee guy? They have great hot chocolate. _

He smiles, gulping down a weird, giddy sound that he's not sure he's ever made before.

_ Coffee. Hazelnut, light and sweet. Hot chocolate for Christmas only.  _

Derek walks out of the alley where he'd been pacing like an idiot, stopping just before the windows to the coffee shop, and listens for Stiles.

He hears a small, elated laugh coming from the far corner of the room.

_ Okay. Fair enough. You struck me as more of the 'Coffee as black as my soul and leather jacket' kinda guy, but I guess I stand corrected. _

Derek's smiling like a fool. He can feel his sharp canine pressing into his bottom lip.

_My soul's not that dark. More of a spicy brown._  


Stiles' laugh is sharp and full of surprise. Derek wishes he could see his face, wishes he could hear that laugh forever. He types something quickly before Stiles can even respond.

_ Are you a sun or a moon person?  _ His phone buzzes almost immediately.

_ Moon. Hungry like the wolf. _

Derek's never coming back from this. Not ever.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE my fave idiots


	4. The Super Bowl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You just opened my beer with your...teeth.”

The rest of the month is a complete blur. They text constantly, to the point where Derek walks into not one, but  _two_ poles on his way to get coffee because he's staring at his phone.

9:13 AM

_Derek, you fucking dork, who hasn't seen Star Wars?_

_\---_

10:07 AM

_Bought a hot chocolate. Tis the season._

_\---_

12:46 PM

_I think one of these moles is gonna be the one that kills me. Like, it'll become radioactive and just...end me._

_\---_

6 pm

_Watching Star Wars, asshole. It's horrible._

_\---_

6:04 PM

_That hurts me to my core, Derek. You have poor taste._

 

Derek knows the names of everyone in Stiles' life; knows that he had a weird sex dream about his best friend, Scott, and cried about it for 3 days straight. He knows that Stiles gets panic attacks every once in a while, that he became a window washer because he's afraid of heights and because Scott didn't think he'd actually do it. He's going to UC Berkeley and studies criminal justice.

He's broken twelve bones in his body and is allergic to shellfish, but he eats it anyway because he loves seafood. He's gay, single, and Derek also knows that he is completely, utterly, disgustingly in love with him.

  
  
The Super Bowl is boring. Derek always thought so, but this one was especially boring. He had abandoned the couch in favor of compulsively cleaning his kitchen sink for the third time that day when the familiar sound of his phone buzzing beside him distracted him. He picks it up almost immediately, the way he always does now.

_Look up. ___

__Derek does as he is told, looking up and to his left to see Stiles at his window, a six pack of beer in his hand, doing some strange, awkward dance on the platform that Derek had come to think of as a magic cloud that brought him his favorite thing._ _

__“You really are the last person who should be dancing on a platform in the sky.”_ _

__Stiles climbs through the window, foot catching on the sill for a moment making him stumble gracelessly into the safety of Derek’s apartment._ _

__He catches himself before completely falling, but that doesn’t stop Derek from reaching out to steady him._ _

__It’s not the first time they’ve touched. He and Stiles have come a long way since the coffee shop, and Stiles has taken to slapping Derek on the shoulder and sometimes—rarely—hugging him. Not a full hug, but a quick press of chests and a pat on the back._ _

__So it’s not the first time they’ve touched, but it still makes Derek’s face get hot. He has one hand gripping Stiles’s left shoulder, and the other on his ribs._ _

__“If it hasn’t killed me yet, it probably never will.”_ _

__Derek smiles at that, breaking the contact and trying not to watch the white fingerprints on Stiles’s arm turn pink again. He grabs the beers from him and places them on his counter._ _

__“Don’t tell me you’re here for football.”_ _

__“Of course I’m not. Sports are objectively garbage. Unless it’s figure skating.”_ _

__Stiles reaches a hand out, gesturing for a beer, so Derek grabs two, cracking them both open with his sharper canine._ _

__It doesn’t strike him that that could be an odd thing to do until Stiles’s mouth opens, eyes going wide with shock._ _

__“You just opened my beer with your...teeth.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Derek hands Stiles the bottle and looks down, rubbing his neck. Stiles just stands there, and it looks like he doesn’t even know he’s holding anything._ _

__“That’s...something,” he breathes, and Derek smells that slight change, the spice at the back of his throat again. He puts some distance between them, like he always does, because he wants to touch too much._ _

__“So what did you want to do?” He changes the subject, walking over to the couch and plopping down._ _

__“Lord of the Rings,” Stiles says easily, dropping down right beside Derek. They’re not touching or anything, but it’s just close enough that he can feel the almost-contact like a thin current of electricity._ _

__“Fine. But Two Towers only. I don’t acknowledge the last one because it’s sad.”_ _

__“Did you cry? Please tell me you cried,” Stiles is moving so much next to him, turning his entire body to face him like a child being offered story time._ _

__“Yeah, I cried. Co—my sister made fun of me for a year straight.”_ _

__“Just because you cried?” Stiles is resting his chin on his knees while Derek searches on Demand._ _

__“Uh, no.”_ _

__“Are you gonna elaborate, Lorelai?”_ _

__“Why do you always call me that?” Derek abandons his search to turn and face Stiles, bringing one knee up to his chest._ _

__“Because of your way with words.”_ _

__“I don’t know who she is.”_ _

__Stiles lifts his head up in feigned shock, kicking Derek’s shin._ _

__“Derek. You’ve never seen Gilmore Girls?”_ _

__“I’ve never even heard of it.”_ _

__This really seems to shock Stiles, to the point where Derek isn’t really sure how to proceed or explain himself. He thinks about just coming clean, saying _I was running from a psychopathic group of werewolf hunters who brutally murdered my family. Whole years were spent in abandoned buildings and forests with no other human contact. Oh by the way, I’m a werewolf, _but ultimately decides against it in favor of scowling.___ _

____“Hey,” Stiles pulls him back into the present. “We’ll just have to watch it sometime.”_ _ _ _

____“Yeah. Okay.”_ _ _ _

____He knows he ruined the mood and is kicking himself for it. He rents Two Towers and settles back towards the TV, trying to unclench his jaw._ _ _ _

____They don’t talk again until their last beer. Derek, of course, feels nothing, but he can tell by Stiles’s languid movements that he’s tipsy._ _ _ _

____“Derek, where do you work?”_ _ _ _

____It’s a strange question. He pauses the movie on a still of Gollum’s face._ _ _ _

____“I don’t.”_ _ _ _

____Stiles is slumped down on the couch, chin pressed into his chest. He’s scratching the label off of his empty bottle, bottom lip pressed out in concentration._ _ _ _

____“Not even freelance?”_ _ _ _

____“I...don’t really need to.” He knows he should be giving Stiles more, but he’s wanted to avoid this conversation for as long as possible._ _ _ _

____“Oh. Is your family rich?” Stiles has abandoned the bottle, laying down and resting his feet on Derek’s right thigh._ _ _ _

____He takes a deep breath. “They were, yeah.”_ _ _ _

____He feels and smells the realization and it makes him want to leave. He hates this so much. Stiles smells melancholic now, like a spilled bottle of lavender oil._ _ _ _

____“My mom’s dead. I know it’s not the same as both, but I’m sorry. I can leave it at that.”_ _ _ _

____The room is too quiet now. Stiles is breathing deep and even beside him. It sounds like he’s sleeping, but Derek can’t bring himself to look at him and check.  
If it had been hard for Derek to express himself before his family died, it was almost impossible now. Every emotion had to go through the process of choking him in his throat before finding its way out—usually in the form of a barely concealed sob._ _ _ _

____“I should go.”_ _ _ _

____This makes Stiles sit up. “What? Like leave your own apartment? Right now?”_ _ _ _

____Derek doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s not even sure why he said anything in the first place. He shrugs, trying to stop the shut down that’s happening in his body._ _ _ _

____“Okay. I mean I—I can’t drive right now. I have to call an Uber and that could take a few minutes.”_ _ _ _

____“Fine. That’s fine.” Please don’t go, just give me a second. Derek’s screaming at himself. Beating at the doors of his own mouth to say something coherent._ _ _ _

____“Jesus, Derek.” Stiles mutters, shooting up and towards his discarded shoes.  
The imprint of Stiles’s body on the leather couch is slowly disappearing. Derek smoothes it out. _ _ _ _

____“Look, if I did something or was out of line, I’m really sorry okay? If you could—if you could tell me what I did, that might help me understand so that I can not do it again moving forward.”_ _ _ _

____Derek’s standing now. He doesn’t know when he did that. Maybe he meant to move towards Stiles. Probably._ _ _ _

____“No. It’s not—you didn’t.”_ _ _ _

____Stiles moves closer; a few feet of distance between them and enough for Derek to take a few deep breaths._ _ _ _

____“You asked me to make this easy for you and I’m trying. I’m trying. Derek—“_ _ _ _

____Stiles’s hand on his face is soft and too hot. God, when is the last time someone touched his face? When is the last time someone said his name? He can’t remember._ _ _ _

____“Talk to me. However you can, just tell me what’s going on up there,” Stiles’s smile is forced, but it’s there when Derek finally looks at him._ _ _ _

____“I don’t know how. I don’t...I’m so bad at this.”_ _ _ _

____“It’s okay. Just give me a clue here. I’m not asking for everything. I wouldn’t ask you for everything.”_ _ _ _

____But I want to give you everything._ _ _ _

____“You did nothing wrong. I—I dont like talking about my family. They’re all dead. Even my sister.”_ _ _ _

____Stiles’s other hand comes up to touch the neglected side of his face, and he doesn’t know when he started breathing heavy, but he is._ _ _ _

____Slowly, so slowly, Stiles moves closer. Then, right as their chests touch, he presses his head into Derek’s shoulder, arms slipping from Derek’s face to his neck, where he wraps them around him. It’s such a shock to Derek’s system that he has to bite down on a yell. Without his permission, he starts crying, fists stubbornly at his sides still._ _ _ _

____“It’s okay,” Stiles whispers, and Derek can feel his lips move against his neck. Feels Stiles’s arms squeeze a little tighter._ _ _ _

____“I’m sorry about your mom,” he chokes out, and then he presses his cheek against Stiles’s head._ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *posts chapter four 2 years later* god WHOOPS


End file.
